Podcasts about whetting

Join Andrew Snyder and patrons of the Mythic Mind Fellowship as we work our way through the Poetic Edda. In this conversation, we discuss:The Whetting of GudrunThe Lay of HamdirBaldr's DreamsThe List of RigThe Song of HyndlaThe Song of GrottiGroa's ChantThe Sayings of FiolsvinnThe Waking of AngantyrBecome a patron of Mythic Mind at https://www.patreon.com/mythicmindEnroll in Josh Traylor's Paradise Lost course at https://www.patreon.com/JoshTraylorBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/mythic-mind--5808321/support.

Adam and Neil try to find a little quiet in a busy Buriram Media Centre to talk about what was said and what was seen in the very first set-up day of activity for MotoGP 2025.

Ever wondered how a kebab could lead to an epiphany about ancient philosophy? Join Brian, Nick, and me as we embark on a gastronomic adventure that pairs delectably with the enduring wisdom of Stoicism. You're in for a savory treat of tales and musings that connect lukewarm chicken skewers and the irresistible charm of cheese curds to the stoic virtues that can anchor us in the tumult of today's world.Peeling back the layers of our daily grind, we draw parallels between the pursuit of a meaningful life and the art of savoring a meal crafted from humble leftovers. From the quenching sips of tropical beverages to candid anecdotes spanning self-help literature to the silver screen, our exchange is peppered with humor and insights. We touch on the Stoic heavyweights—Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius—and the pillars of courage, resistance, and justice that they championed. Whether you're a seasoned philosopher or simply curious about the stoic way, there's a seat at our table for you.As we round off the conversation, we tackle the delicate tension between personal desires and the broader public good. With a nod to modern distractions like social media and video games, we explore the virtues of temperance and wisdom, offering a perspective that's as nourishing for the soul as the eclectic flavors discussed throughout the show. So, whether you're dishing out a late-night snack or contemplating life's bigger questions, we invite you to feast on this episode that's guaranteed to satisfy both your hunger and your intellect.

In this Hasty Treat, Scott and Wes relate some spooky listener submitted coding horrors including updates for a large furniture retailer, pull request oversights, disallowing everything in a robots.txt, massive email fail, and more. Show Notes 00:21 Welcome 01:22 Whetting your whistle 01:52 Syntax Brought to you by Sentry 02:13 Site updates for one of the largest furniture retailers in my country 04:18 The Embarrassing Test Page Incident 05:54 The Pull Request Oversight 08:02 Making changes to a JSON file 13:11 Deploying a “disallow everything” robots.txt 14:45 GDPR Deletion 16:11 Dropping the backing disk for the production postgres 17:05 Accidentally pushing staging code as an update 18:34 Email fail 19:25 Hot mobile app prayers 22:28 Bogus ACH info 23:51 Wiring money error 26:44 Payment gateway test not production Tweet us your tasty treats Scott's Instagram LevelUpTutorials Instagram Wes' Instagram Wes' Twitter Wes' Facebook Scott's Twitter Make sure to include @SyntaxFM in your tweets Wes Bos on Bluesky Scott on Bluesky Syntax on Bluesky

The Science Experience provides students in years 9 and 10 with an insight into the activities, the work, study and career possibilities for people working in science. They do this at tertiary campuses under the guidance of scientists who donate their time and love their work. Representing Rotary on the Science Foundation which coordinates the Experience all over Australia, we meet Marilyn Mercer from the e club of Greater Sydney. www.scienceexperience.com.au

Desire is so fundamental to our nature that we often overlook its significance. Its guiding force. We are created - designed - to desire and to be satisfied. Desire and satisfaction were part of Paradise before the fall. When God created the world and saw that it was good, he rested. When Adam and Eve worked the garden each day, they would stop in the evening and walk in the cool of the day beside the divine God of the Universe. And when they were hungry, they found satisfaction from taking the fruit of any tree in the garden. Except one, of course. The serpent injected venom into Eve's desires and bent them toward the forbidden. Forget God and what He said, the serpent suggested, and become like him by eating from this tree. Eve, having then entertained the idea of going against God's guidance, looked at the fruit of the tree. The Scriptures say she saw three things that she desired: she saw that the tree was good for food, pleasing to the eye, and desirable for gaining wisdom.  And so, in an attempt to satisfy those desires, she took the forbidden fruit. And ate it. And then gave some to Adam, who was standing next to her. Adam and Eve abandoned their natural, divine provisions that would naturally meet their desires and grasped for something outside the realm of God's desire. And yet, though we call this event the Fall - or Paradise Lost - what we find is God's desire only beginning to reveal itself. God came to the garden in the cool of the day to find Adam and Eve, desiring to walk with them. He called to them when he could not find them, desiring their presence. And once they confessed their sin, He covered their shame with animal skins that he sacrificed, desiring to relieve their shame. He handed down discipline and ejected them from the garden, but left them alive and well, desiring to continue to be a part of their lives. And the rest of Scripture is the story of God's divine pursuit - his holy desire - to win us back from doing the same thing over and over again - trying to gratify our desires with anything other than Him and His provision. God's desire is us. And when we loosen our grip on the forbidden fruit and take our eyes off its deceptive appearances, we find that what we really desire ourselves is God. And when God's desires and ours converge, Paradise is regained. Source Scripture Matthew 7:7-11; Luke 11:9-13 Connect Twitter: @AwestruckPod Email: info@awestruckpodcast.com Extras The Awestruck Podcast musical playlist  (Apple I Spotify)

Whetting your podcast whistle while we keep cookin' the books! here is the first of our mini episodes. Come through as Aaron & Tamu answer questions with honest answers! 

Pixie and Mister J are BACK in season 4!!! Here's one to start you off before the season Premiere.  Stripper Jordan stops by the Next On Stage One sound stage to talk about her origin story as a strip club villianess. From bar fights to cop slapping and why being a "bitch" works for her. New look, new start, same Pixie and Mister J             Music

Dedicated in the memory of Dr. Dodi Tobin z"l. || A series of what amounts to recommendations by the sages for a healthy diet during pregnancy. Including how a mother's diet of etrogim made the child smell good, to the extent that the child was used to spice. Plus, more marriage politics around nursing, which are apparently eternal. Also, just how delectable all kinds of food, meat and wine and mushrooms and turnip and even pomegranates can be, to drive people beyond distraction in their desire and appetite for the food. And how the way one treats the waiters is indicative of one's righteousness - and if one is righteous enough, Elijah the Prophet just might pop by for a visit. Plus, the next mishnah. And - 2 sages with comparable names. And a dispute between Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai that brings us back to pregnancy and nursing.

Brandon and Evan return! To ramble about what they've been up to, and why there's no Season Four yet… It's been a busy time in the bunker, as hosts Brandon and Evan have been up to a variety of Stuff and Things. This liminal, whetting your whistle episode discusses our upcoming novels, how we're feeling...

Yes the test has begun, or for a better word the shakedown, as the teams fire up their 2022 challengers. Social media is running wild with tech images as we get our first look at the unique innovations each team has brung. So who will be the front runner? Will it be the hyper aggressive Ferrari? The sleek styling if the Aston? The trimmed Mercedes? The manic Redbull or someone else? Join us for a bite sized episode as we talk tech, livery and chat all things day one as live feeds hit the socials. All that plus more on this week's episode of BTRL.

Aetherbound by E.K. Johnston - Goodreads - Amazon Unwind by Neil Shusterman - Goodreads - Amazon

Interviews with The Best Indie Artists and Music Business Professional all over the World. BIO: Byron Nemeth, the multi-instrumentalist and hard rock aficionado who has played all over the world and taken part in 6+ album releases to date, knew at just the age of 5 that music was his true calling. Upon first hearing the Beatles, turning his attention to the likes of Randy Rhoads, Michael Schenker, Jimmy Page, and Joe Satriani, as well as jazz and classical talent, Byron pursued his innate calling until the age of 18, when he formed his very first band: Sacred Heart. Going onto tour with various bands throughout Northeast Ohio during the 80s and 90s, Byron began to explore his personal style, playing with bands like Sacred Heart, Amon-Ra, Prodigy, and Electro-Motive-Force. Releasing the Vision as a 1985 Cassette with Sacred Heart, the Reimagined version was recently made available. Following his first cassette debut, Byron also took part in the release of In the Company of the Gods with Amon Ra in 1992, now also available as a Reimagined version. Realizing he had a shot at musical fame, following his touring stint, in 1995 Byron began musical education at a university to hone in on artistic skills. Byron studied jazz and classical music at the Cleveland State University, providing him with the talent to easily blend in with a variety of musical genres. Case and point, Byron was shortly thereafter commissioned to perform as first guitar with Richard Henrickson's orchestrated Ozone Hour, a 35-minute symphonic Rock Ballet which was comprised of 33 dancers, a rock band and the Cleveland Chamber Orchestra in 1997. Byron Nemeth's Solo Career Following his education, in 1999, Byron launched his own solo career with the release of his first album: Byron Nemeth Group. The album laid the groundwork for a progressive, yet melodic style that became the trademark Byron sound for decades to come. His biggest album hits, “Millennium Machine” and “Two Moon Sky,” tapped into a new kind of playfulness that wasn't, at the time, popular in his style of music. The Reimagined Byron Nemeth Group was recently released in 2018. Whetting his appetite for songwriting and performance, Byron released 2000, a completely self-product and performed project. With hit singles “Machines of Ice,” “High Speed Life,” and “Summer's New Day,” Byron began to gain notoriety for his talent. So much so, that in 2001, Byron was asked to perform a featured song “It's Showtime” on the Japanese Jason Becker Tribute CD: Warmth in the Wilderness. The CD was designed to spread awareness of Jason's condition of ALS, contracted following his David Lee Roth album recording. www.byronnemeth.com

It’s Friday and there is no script. Andy and Brendan begin with some thoughts on the first ever non-profit casino being built at TPC Scottsdale. Then there are some Mother’s Day gift ideas, like “tournament-used hazard water” on offer from TPC Sawgrass. The event of the week, the Western Intercollegiate, is reviewed, leading to some “bones to pick” with college coaches slowing down pace of play and the kerfuffle over the conclusion preempting first round LPGA coverage. There’s also a quiz on the Pepperdine basketball program. The ridiculous efforts and costs, borne by the local tournament and its charity efforts, to heighten the range net at Harbour Town are excoriated. Brittany That’s Amore’s charge, as well as Lydia Ko also potentially ending her drought, are discussed on the LPGA. The frigid conditions and schnitzel consumption of the Austrian Open are noted. Precision Pro Flashback Friday closes with a look back at an absolutely brutal day the last time a major was played at Kiawah, as well as some lofty prognostications for the Prince of Ponte Vedra.

Sermon by Mike Poettcker

Think it's too early for Christmas? Well, you're dead wrong, because Queen Mimi has declared the holiday season OPEN! Let's face it, most of us can't wait to get this year out of the way and as we're going to be at home "quite a lot", there's no excuse to be a Scrooge in 2020.Joining Tolly and Gena this week is Rich Hawkins, who is in charge of every Youtube video Netflix UK make - what a dream job! Not only is he extremely adept at sucking you into a video rabbit hole full of Easter eggs and BTS action, he's also incredibly entertaining company - as the girls found out!Whetting your festive appetites are the following:The Queens GambitStepmomBarbariansGrand ArmyJingle JangleThe CrownEach week join hosts and IRL friends Tolani Shoneye (of The Receipts podcast fame) and Gena-mour Barrett (who works for Netflix) as they discuss what they're watching, and what they think * you * should be watching. Produced by Jamie East and Netflix UK

Bumper episode this week, we get a glimpse of what having Dean Yendall on the show would be like and we cannot wait for more. Trev gets disappointed by Rusty again, spring is just around the corner and the racing is heating up. In an exciting twist, we get a call of virtual racehorse Richo's Runner winning at his latest start.

This week has been filled with rest and family-gathered refreshment, so that we paused our Maker’s Hollow Conversation episodes for this one week. Episode 5 of these summer conversations entitled "On Song," will come to you next Monday, August 3rd and the final episode of the album, “On Grace,” will come two weeks later on August 17th. This brief interruption into our quiet week is intended to draw you into next Monday’s conversation. Where multiple of our Maker’s Hollow family will discuss music and song, singing and instruments, memories and worship, celebration and history. www.EnjoyingGraceStoryCo.com www.WelcometoMakersHollow.com https://www.instagram.com/donshorey http://www.patreon.com/nomeremortals  

Yes... A new segment: one of two to be introduced into the podcast... Because your journeys are as much about what you partake of as they are about what you learn along the way... The last time I talked about a drink, it was Beekeeper's Select Irish Honey from The Whistler brand... This time, I whet my whistle on their second offering... --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Marketing new products is an absolutely daunting task, so you've got to know how to take baby steps before going big. Otherwise, you risk jeopardizing not only your new product, but even your company and your own personal reputation as an entrepreneur. Tracy Hazzard is joined by Chef Marie-Dominique Rail, an acclaimed chef and founder […]

Marketing new products is an absolutely daunting task, so you've got to know how to take baby steps before going big. Otherwise, you risk jeopardizing not only your new product, but even your company and your own personal reputation as an entrepreneur. Tracy Hazzard is joined by Chef Marie-Dominique Rail, an acclaimed chef and founder of MCHEF®. Drawing on her experience of launching a whole new product, Chef Marie-Dominique shows you all the highs and lows. Together, Tracy and Chef Marie-Dominique show you what can and shouldn't be done when you're trying to build from the ground up. Love the show? Subscribe, rate, review, and share!Here's How » Join the Feed Your Brand community today:FeedYourBrand.coFeed Your Brand FacebookFeed Your Brand InstagramFeed Your Brand LinkedInFeed Your Brand PinterestFeed Your Brand Youtube

Marketing new products is an absolutely daunting task, so you’ve got to know how to take baby steps before going big. Otherwise, you risk jeopardizing not only your new product, but even your company and your own personal reputation as an entrepreneur. Tracy Hazzard is joined by Chef Marie-Dominique Rail, an acclaimed chef and founder of MCHEF®. Drawing on her experience of launching a whole new product, Chef Marie-Dominique shows you all the highs and lows. Together, Tracy and Chef Marie-Dominique show you what can and shouldn’t be done when you’re trying to build from the ground up. Love the show? Subscribe, rate, review, and share! Here’s How » Join the Feed Your Brand community today: FeedYourBrand.co Feed Your Brand Facebook Feed Your Brand Instagram Feed Your Brand LinkedIn Feed Your Brand Pinterest Feed Your Brand Youtube

After years of careful finance career–building within the healthcare sector, Paul Willson came upon an opportunity inside Austin’s energetic technology start-up community that he found hard to resist. Becoming employee number 23, he was immediately dubbed “the finance guy”—a label that he would wear for only 5 days before the ambitious start-up announced that it was being acquired by BMC Software. At the time, Willson no doubt harbored some frustration concerning the timing of his arrival in the realm of entrepreneurial tech. However, in the weeks and months to come, the conventional wisdom that had fueled the tech community’s bravado would be stood on its head as the dot-com crash of 2000 scorched the entrepreneurial landscape and ended the life of many a start-up. Back at BMC, Willson weathered the storm and joined their finance rank-and-file, where he grew accustomed to the ebb and flow of the technology world before jumping to Convio, a small, Austin-based, technology firm with IPO ambitions. “It was a great experience to build Convio from scratch, and this being 2005 when we started—the early days of SaaS companies—we were looking for any information that we could find on the business model,” explains Willson, who today credits Convio for allowing him to open the entrepreneurial career chapter that he had needed to put on hold a few years earlier. –Jack Sweeney   Do you want to learn more about the experiences that shaped today’s finance leadership? There’s no shortage of courses out there that promise to help you build a finance career. But the vast majority of these courses are taught by people who’ve never actually advanced into the CFO office.  The reason is pretty simple: CFOs are too busy helping to lead their companies to begin offering courses!  Subscribe to CFO Thought Leader Quarterly magazine or let us ship you our latest issue HERE  

Tell the Phoenix Fox, Tell the Tortoise Fruit by Cynthia So   On the day Sunae turned nine years old, there was no joyful feast. A monster burst from the sea that night and ate five people. The Mirayans gathered upon the shore to watch this, as they did every Appeasement. Sunae’s mother covered Sunae’s eyes, but Sunae still heard the screams. The crunch of brittle bone between teeth. The wet gulp of gluttonous throats. Sunae prayed to the Goddess that the warrior Yomue might rise from the dead and defeat the monster yet again. No warrior came, but a hand grasped Sunae’s and squeezed. A hand as small as her own. When it was over, Sunae’s mother murmured, “Now we will be safe for another ten years.” She removed her hands from Sunae’s eyes, and Sunae flinched from the gore before her. The older children always said that this was why Miraya’s beaches were pink, but she hadn’t been convinced until she saw the sands now drenched with fresh blood. Dark red on dusk pink. Full transcript after the cut:     Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode 66 for March 5, 2019. This is your host Keffy, and I'm super excited to share this story with you. Today we have a GlitterShip original, "Tell the Phoenix Fox, Tell the Tortoise Fruit" by Cynthia So and a poem by Chanter, "The Lamentations of Old Money." This episode is part of the newest GlitterShip issue, which was just released and... is very late. The "Summer 2018" issue of GlitterShip is available for purchase at glittership.com/buy and on Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and now Gumroad! If you're one of our Patreon supporters, you should have access to the new issue waiting for you when you log in. For everyone else, it's $2.99, and all of our back issues are $1.49. GlitterShip is also a part of the Audible Trial Program. This means that just by listening to GlitterShip, you are eligible for a free 30 day membership on Audible and a free audiobook to keep. If you'er looking for an excellent book of short queer stories to listen to, you should check out Bitter Waters by Chaz Brenchley. This book is full of speculative fiction featuring gay men and was awarded the Lambda Award for best LGBT speculative fiction. To download Bitter Waters for free today, go to www.audibletrial.com/glittership -- or choose another book if you're in the mood for something else. Up first, our poem:   Chanter is a proud Wisconsinite who took flight (alas, not literally) from her originating small town, headed for the big city’s more accepting climes and never looked back.  She’s proudly asexual, demisensual, and some flavor of bi- or panromantic that’s as yet proving difficult to define.  She’s also brand squeaky new (emphasis, occasionally, on squeaky) to official publication.  Besides holding down a day job, she’s an active shortwave radio DXer and ham operator, as well as a crowdfunded author currently based mainly on Dreamwidth.       The Lamentations of Old Money by Chanter   Jennifer doesn’t want a white dress. She doesn’t want a church,an altar, a tangle of coast-grown flowers,sisters in matching silk, trained doves, stained glass,twenty overlaid colognes and splintering sunlight,rehearsed organ music andrecorded pop shorthand warbling through weak speakers,biting April breezes, overthought hair and makeup,snow in hardwood aisles. Jennifer doesn’t want a wild time. She doesn’t want hips around shoulders, tools and toys,filthy supplications and hot breath ideas,hours between bedsheets, sticky aftermaths,bruises as tawdry mementos in hard to reach places,hands and mouths, teeth and tongues and fluids,too many entrances,the junctions of legs and legs and legs. Jennifer doesn’t want hard edges. Not for her, leashes, spike heels and bad girl pretense.not for her, the bite of too-demanding fingertipsgrinding at her biceps,cold and bruising at her cheeks,clamped into the flesh of her wrists.Not for her, orders with teeth both behind and in them,whipcracks in voice and deed.Not for her, daddy’s little anything, mommy’s little anything,a schoolgirl’s life, a paddle’s life,princess, flower, whore.Not for her, latex and custom-made chains,iron protocol and a child’s tear-stung punishments,revoked names and Halloween’s expected trappings. Not for her, anonymity.Not for her, all of the spiceand none of the wine to mull with it. What Jennifer wants? Fits on a two-sided coin. One side: Jennifer wants nights asleep in a hayloft, clothes on,with siblings in arms—and black coffee,and cotton-coarse humor, and blood—to her left and right. Jennifer wants a uniform,wants honest lamplight with a wick beneath it,wants a hundred songs and a hand-tuned fiddle,a guitar played at a campfire,laces and burlap, branches and homespun wool,antique language, tactile camaraderie,respected rank and unresented ceremony,world-spanning care so personal it can’t be feigned,so simultaneously subtle and frank that it confuses,so elegant it’s genuine,so casual it’s ancient.“To be fair, that one does drive me utterly mad of an afternoon butGod be good, dear fellow, why wouldn’t I?” Jennifer wants a certain amount of ignored anachronism,wants a world where ‘dear fellow’as affectionate genderless address is just fine,where ‘she’s a good man to have beside you in a fight’is perfectly acceptable wording,but where the phrase ‘man up’ is both soundly off limitsand considered decades or centuries distant, depending;a world where, at the end of the day,it’s quietly acknowledged and otherwise near-forgottenthat oh yes, that one there, she’s a girl.As in woman.As in, see also, dame. Noun.Example I: To go to work for the war efforton the road under cover of darkness,on the air for the BBC,or on the battlefield firing decisive cannon blast volleyslike a real dame. Example II:I’m a girl, and mostly,I prefer other dames to fellas. Mostly.But when I don’t, I kinda have a type? Ahem!” Somewhere, a coin is balancing on its edge. And the flip side: Jennifer wants to write a hundred stories and bind them in hard covers,wants modern skirts to her ankles,comfortable jeans and blue corduroy coat sleeves,wants city streets, steel toes and long hair,near-distant clocktower bells,silver jewelry bought by her own hand, in her own name,a rocking chair made to last for decades,a damn fine radio setup,the solid strength of a wooden door at her backafter she and she - he and she - they and sheafter they’ve crashed through itand, fully clothed, battered it closed behind them. Both sides: Jennifer wants her wrists pressed flat against that wooden door,all benevolent force, all warmth,all welcome gravity, all burgeoning life in orbit,all the steady strength of a starin symbiosis with a planet.Jennifer wants voices and voices and voices,innocent details and muscle-melting,breath-stealing turns of phrase,sound serving as light serving aslodestone to the iron in every millimeter of herexcept, except, for a bare and unbared few. One side: Jennifer wants the wind at her back,a message, a mission, a reason and a warning,miles and miles and miles rolled outunder a sky filled with leaden stars,a purpose and a signal, a gesture,an anticipation of commandthat tenses her like a bowstringbefore—wait, wait, wait for it—rush for it— “Fire!” Both sides: Jennifer wants to be eager,to be teeming under her skin with silver,wants a reason and a cause and a leader who’sfallible by self-description, near-matchless by others’ accounts,wants to thrill to rank, surname, simple designation,wants to know at exactly what she’s aimed,near-precisely what will happen when she hitsand that yes, the trusted, entirely human handsof gravity to a planetare the only hands pulling or perhaps, perhaps,the only hands directing those pulling her string,wants to be entirely, mindfully, consensually willingto be fired like a longbow. And the flip side: Jennifer wants to bringa girlfriend home to her parents,wants to curl into accented wordslike they’re warm compresses and quilts,wants to make promises and keep them,find each others’ keys,play each others’ record collections,brush cat hair off each others’ sweaters,adore and be adored forever,not live together.Jennifer wants to never grow tired of hearing herself say“This is Elaine.” Or “This is Kim.” Or “This is...”“This is my better half.” Both sides: Jennifer wants orders that both delight herand fill her with clean purpose,stoking a fire that consumes every inch of herexcept, except, for the space between her thighs.Jennifer wants the intersectionwhere bravery meets well-placed loyalty.Jennifer wants to know exactly what she’s doing,wants to be utterly sure of her cause,to make up her entire mind, on her own,and then raise her voiceand throw herself into the thing with abandonbecause yes, this is right, this is reason, this is exuberanceand happiness and righteous fury blazing, this isbright history, this is justice, this is-- One coin. With two sides. Jennifer wantsthe rarity that is liking of, love for,acceptance and welcome ofboth the existence and the admissionof her two sides. Even when she’s difficult.Even when she’s horrible.Even when she’s irrational.Even when she’s just, so most people would say,plain off baseline weird. Especially when she’s weird. All of the wine to mull withall of the spiceground by capable hands.Hands ringed in silver. Hands at the ends of corduroy sleeves. The sleeves of a coat that may have,once or twice,been a makeshift pillow in a hayloft. After a night’s ride. After a night’s mission.       Cynthia So is a queer Chinese writer from Hong Kong, living in London. She spent her undergrad crying over poets that have been dead for 2,000 years, give or take. (She’s graduated now, but still crying.) Her short fiction has appeared in Anathema, Arsenika, and Cast of Wonders. She can be found on Twitter @cynaesthete. Zora Mai Quỳnh is a genderqueer Vietnamese writer whose short stories, poems, and essays can be found in The SEA Is Ours, Genius Loci: The Spirit of Place, POC Destroy Science Fiction, Luminescent Threads: Connections to Octavia Butler, Strange Horizons, and Terraform. Visit her: zmquynh.com. Rivia is a Black and Vietnamese Pansexual Teen who has a passion for reading, video games and music. She says “I’m gender questioning but also questioning whether or not I’m questioning...Isn’t gender just a concept?” You can hear her vocals on Strange Horizon’s podcast for “When she sings…”   Tell the Phoenix Fox, Tell the Tortoise Fruit by Cynthia So       On the day Sunae turned nine years old, there was no joyful feast. A monster burst from the sea that night and ate five people. The Mirayans gathered upon the shore to watch this, as they did every Appeasement. Sunae’s mother covered Sunae’s eyes, but Sunae still heard the screams. The crunch of brittle bone between teeth. The wet gulp of gluttonous throats. Sunae prayed to the Goddess that the warrior Yomue might rise from the dead and defeat the monster yet again. No warrior came, but a hand grasped Sunae’s and squeezed. A hand as small as her own. When it was over, Sunae’s mother murmured, “Now we will be safe for another ten years.” She removed her hands from Sunae’s eyes, and Sunae flinched from the gore before her. The older children always said that this was why Miraya’s beaches were pink, but she hadn’t been convinced until she saw the sands now drenched with fresh blood. Dark red on dusk pink. She looked at the girl next to her, the girl who was holding her hand, and she saw a determination in those eyes as bright as the moon, as bright as her own. A determination to make sure that this would never happen again. “I’m Oaru,” the girl said. “What’s your name?” Sunae looked down at their clasped hands and told Oaru her name.   The Temple of the Moon Goddess is the most beautiful place on the island. There are no straight lines and sharp angles within, but everything is curved and gentle and swooping. Shades of blue deepen as one enters through the front, the colors of twilight intensifying into midnight, accented by silver and broken up by patches of brilliant white that gleam through the dark. A pool of water from the Moon Lake shimmers in the atrium. Frosty glass cut into lunar shapes hang from the ceiling in long, glittering threads. All of it is flawless craftsmanship, except for the wall of the prayer hall. The hall is perfectly circular. Spanning a semicircle on the wall is a painting of Yomue, splendid in lustrous armor, wielding a sword as black as her hair and an expression as fierce as the sea. The sand of the Mirayan beach is pink beneath her feet, and she glares at the monster that towers over her. Its writhing, many-headed form is etched into the blackness of the night. The moon hangs above them, solemn and full. The other half of the wall is blank, its contents effaced and forgotten. Warrior confronts monster. What’s the rest of the story? Monster leaves island alone for a hundred years. Warrior dies, and monster comes back. It is starved and salivating, with too many teeth. Every ten years, it must be fed. Is that what was on the other half of the wall? Sunae’s mother buys her Carrucean books to read, because Carrucean is an important language to learn well. In Carrucean tales, monsters are always slain. Heroes sometimes journey into foreign lands and kill other people’s monsters for them, and they are rewarded with riches and brides and thrones. Sunae is ten years old, but she knows this: there are Carruceans living in Miraya. Miraya was owned by Carrucea for hundreds of years, and then there was a treaty of some sort not long before Sunae was born, and now Miraya belongs to the Mirayans again. The Carruceans came here to their island. They governed the island and lived here for centuries, but no Carrucean ever killed the monster for them. Yet here they are on the island still, with their wealth, their power. Their Mirayan wives. “Mother, have any Carruceans ever been fed to the monster?” Sunae asks. Her mother frowns. “Can’t we talk about something more cheerful?” Sunae just wants to know how to defeat the monster. If no Carruceans will come to their aid, then who will?   The old Library of Miraya is a burnt husk with a blackened facade, secluded from the town and set into the side of a hill, a little way from the Moon Lake. Sunae doesn’t understand why it hasn’t been torn down to make way for something new when fire ravaged it long ago, but perhaps its remote location preserved it. Evidently the Mirayans of yore prized a peaceful reading environment. Sunae can hear nothing of the bustling town here, only a chorus of birds. She also doesn’t understand why she is letting Oaru drag her into the grim ruins. Inside, the half-collapsed roof lets in some lemony sunlight, but there is an unpleasant smell like overripe tortoise fruit, and rows of charred shelves loom and menace. “It went this way,” Oaru says, and drops to her hands and knees to crawl through a tiny hole in the wall. Sunae sighs and follows. She gets stuck, her shoulders being broader than Oaru’s, but Oaru wrenches her free with a painful yank. She emerges into a cramped and airless space, illuminated only by the glow of the phoenix fox, which is swishing its enormous tail back and forth, sweeping away layers of ash and dust from the wall behind it. Sunae coughs, but Oaru grabs her arm excitedly. “There’s something on the wall!” Oaru leans over the fox and scrubs at the wall with her sleeve, gradually revealing the faded colors of a painting: a woman in an ethereal blue gown, sitting with a brush in her hand. A long scroll of paper unfurls before her, inked in an illegible, swirling script. “Doesn’t that look a bit like Yomue?” Oaru asks. It seems impossible that this serene woman should resemble the powerful warrior in the temple, but she does. It’s in the proud tilt of her jaw, maybe. Sunae reaches out and traces the woman’s chin. She has never been permitted to touch the temple mural, though she has longed to. “What is she doing?” Oaru wonders. “Writing poetry?” Sunae ventures. The phoenix fox smirks at her and stretches lazily before slipping out through the hole in the wall, leaving them in absolute darkness. Oaru yelps, “I’ve got to catch that fox!” She tugs at Sunae’s elbow and Sunae reluctantly goes with her. It’s as much a struggle to get out as it was to get in, and the fox is nowhere to be seen by the time Sunae has wriggled through.   The new Library of Miraya is a clean and functional building, centrally located, right next to the Town Hall. Most of the space is dedicated to Carrucean books, with the Mirayan literature section tucked into a dismal corner. Sunae asks a librarian to help her find Yomue’s poems. “Yomue wasn’t a poet,” the librarian says, puzzled. “But I can recommend poetry from the same time period. Not much of it survived, what with the old Library burning down... But there is some, and it’s very beautiful. Do you know how to read Classical Mirayan, though?” In the end, Sunae walks away from the Library with a few books and a leaflet for free Classical Mirayan lessons. By the time she turns twelve, she has read all the Classical Mirayan poetry that the Library has to offer—and all the modern Mirayan poetry, too. She tries her hand at writing her own poem. She writes about Yomue and the monster. Yomue’s husband, wrongfully convicted of murdering a man, chained to a pillar on the shore, awaiting his execution. Yomue weeping at his feet. The moon trembling in the sky, the Goddess watching. Yomue dressing herself in armor, carefully lacing her breastplate, looping her belt through the buckle. Whetting her sword and sheathing it. Her hair, tied back with a ribbon given to her by her husband. Her boots hitting the ground, her armor jangling. The monster howling, crashing back into the sea where it nurses its wounds for a hundred years. Sunae wins a competition at school with this poem, and gets a shiny badge that she pins to her satchel. She is fourteen, and she writes about nature: trees touching, sands blushing. The ocean embracing the coast. Leaves tender for one another. Mountains asleep next to each other. The moon observing everything. She is sixteen, and Oaru bets a boy she can beat him in a swordfight. Sunae has watched Oaru practise in her garden every week for five years, first with a toy sword, then with a real one; Oaru is graceful and deft with it where Sunae has always fumbled and flailed. Oaru and the boy are wearing white clothes and using wooden swords dipped in red paint; the boy soon looks like a bloody mess and yields, while Oaru is still pristine. “You were amazing,” Sunae says afterwards, as Oaru is cutting into a celebratory tortoise fruit. Oaru waves a slice of it in her face, and Sunae grimaces at its distinct mustiness. “Ew, no thank you.” “How can you not like tortoise fruit?” Oaru says, shaking her head. “Are you even Mirayan?” Sunae sticks her tongue out. “It smells like a sweaty armpit and it tastes even worse.” Oaru eagerly bites into the purple flesh of the fruit. “You should know though, you kind of looked like a tortoise fruit just then, when I wafted it under your nose.” Sunae blinks at the wrinkled skin of the tortoise fruit in horror. “I looked like that? Don’t be so mean!” Oaru laughs and nudges her side. “All right, I’m sorry—but hey, do you think I’ll be good enough to defeat the monster someday?” No. Don’t you dare try. Sunae swallows. Oaru must be the best fighter Miraya has seen in generations. Surely if anyone has a chance to ward off the monster and stop more Appeasements from happening, it’s her. How can Sunae be so selfish as to hold Oaru back for fear of losing her? She says, “You look so much like Yomue in the temple mural when you’re moving with that sword.” Oaru’s breath catches, and Sunae suddenly understands what it is she has really been trying to write poetry about all this time. They are alone in Sunae’s bedroom, and Sunae kisses Oaru. There is tortoise fruit on Oaru’s tongue, cloying and bitter, but Sunae doesn’t scrunch up her nose. She doesn’t mind at all. “That has to be the boldest thing you’ve ever done,” Oaru whispers, her lips soft and purpled, her hair mussed by Sunae’s hands. “I guess you inspired me,” Sunae says, and Oaru grins and grips Sunae’s arms. “Remember that time I tried to catch the phoenix fox?” Sunae nods. Every day she thinks of the painted woman lit by the phoenix-fox fire. The nameless poet buried in the rubble, her face so strangely like Yomue’s. Sunae returned to the shadowy wreckage of the old Library once, but she has grown and can no longer contort herself to fit through that hole in the wall. “I wanted to give the fox to you,” Oaru says. Oh. It is a Mirayan custom for young men to present phoenix foxes to girls they wish to marry. This fact had utterly escaped ten-year-old Sunae, who merely assumed that Oaru wanted the fox as a pretty pet. Sunae raises her eyebrows, stroking Oaru’s cheek with her thumb. “You already wanted to marry me when you were ten?” Oaru shrugs. “I didn’t know then, what it meant. I only knew I wanted to be your friend forever. But now I know what it actually means, for me to want to marry you.” Her eyes are serious, like a cloud veiling the moon. It means we could both be a part of the next Appeasement if anyone finds out. Sunae closes her eyes against the thought and kisses Oaru again. Sunae is eighteen and she is awarded a scholarship to study at the University of Wimmore, one of Carrucea’s world-famous institutions. If she takes the scholarship, she will be absent from Miraya for a year. She will be absent from Miraya on the day of the next Appeasement. Tell me what else there is, she pleads with the impassive image of Yomue on the wall, as everyone else in the prayer hall lifts their cupped hands repeatedly to their faces in the traditional gesture of worship. Tell me. Because if there is more to the story than a swordfight, then maybe she can convince Oaru not to risk her life. And if she has to go to Carrucea to find the answers, she will. At the end of the prayer session, when people are either shuffling off or lingering to socialize, Sunae tells Oaru about the scholarship. “It’s stupid that you have to go to Carrucea to learn more about this island, our island that we’ve been living on our whole lives.” Oaru spits the words, and her frustration echoes in the chambers of Sunae’s heart. “I know.” Sunae wants to run her hands through Oaru’s hair to comfort her, but it would be foolish to show such affection in public. She wants to hold Oaru’s hand, but they are not children anymore. They will not get away with it, not here where everyone can see. “Just promise me that you won’t try and take on the monster when the Appeasement comes. Please. You’re not ready.” I’m not ready. “I promise.” Oaru’s voice sounds fervent with honesty. Sunae hopes she has known Oaru for long enough to tell when she is lying.   The Moon Lake is luminous as a heart that brims full with emotion, and Sunae stands at the edge and dips her toes in. Oaru is naked in the water, moonlight dripping from her hair. Oaru wears a smile like a phoenix fox’s, sly and burning through Sunae. Oaru’s arms are muscled and impatient and open wide. “Come on, Sunae.” Sunae’s fingers hover over the knot that ties the sash around her waist. “You’re breaking the law,” she whispers. Oaru wades closer to Sunae. She lifts the hem of Sunae’s gown and kisses Sunae’s ankles. “We’ve been breaking the law for a long time, tortoise fruit,” she says, her dark eyes looking up into Sunae’s. “When has that ever stopped you?” She leaves wet handprints on the skirt of Sunae’s gown, droplets trickling down the backs of Sunae’s calves. “Who knows when we’ll get to do this again?” I’ll only be away for a year, Sunae thinks, but Oaru’s eyes are darker than fire-scorched walls, and Sunae knows it will be the longest year of their lives. She loosens the knot. Her gown joins Oaru’s in a careless heap on the sandy bank, and soon her body twines with Oaru’s in the water. Mist forms around them, as though the Goddess herself wishes to hide them away from the world.   Let’s skip ahead for a moment. It is Sunae’s nineteenth birthday, and she is chained to a pillar on the pink shore of Miraya. Her lover Oaru is shackled to a different pillar. They cannot touch or kiss each other. The monster is about to rear its ugly heads from the sea, and Sunae is crying, but she is speaking. She is reciting a poem she wrote, and I am watching, as I always have. I am listening. So how did they get here?   Sunae sits on the steps of a lofty sandstone building, shivering in the wind and eating a whole tortoise fruit by herself. She has been studying in Wimmore for four months, and she hasn’t made a single friend. The light in Wimmore is muted and cold, the streets narrow and grey, the houses foreboding and tall. People laugh at her accent. The dresses fashionable here are too tight, and she can never get enough air into her lungs. The air tastes nothing of salt, anyway. She misses the sea. She runs her fingers over the tough, knobbly green rind of the fruit. Her professor had bought it for the class to try—an expensive import from Miraya, not easily purchased. The others in her class had squealed over how disgusting the fruit looked and smelled as Dr. Janner was dissecting it like a corpse, and Sunae thought of Oaru’s teeth tearing into a wedge of tortoise fruit. Oaru’s tongue stained purple by its juice. Sunae had stood up, gathered the massive fruit in her arms as though it were a baby and marched out of the classroom. And now she is sitting on rain-wet stone and chewing miserably. How Oaru would tease her, if Oaru were here. A girl sits down next to her. Talia from her class, with wheat-colored curls flattened in the drizzle. “You really like tortoise fruit, huh?” Talia says. “I hate it,” Sunae says. “Let me try a bit, will you?” Sunae gives her a small slice and she takes a tentative bite. “Hmm, it tastes a lot better than it smells. Definitely not the texture I was expecting, though. It’s... squidgy?” She finishes the slice, throws the rind over her shoulder, and grabs another immediately. Sunae smiles. She thinks it must be the first time she has smiled since she set foot in Wimmore. “You like it more than I do, then.” “So what are you doing out here eating something you hate and crying?” Talia asks, squinting. “Don’t tell me that’s just the rain.” “It’s not just the rain,” Sunae says, rubbing a hand over her face. “It’s just... It’s what a friend calls me. Tortoise fruit.” “An affectionate nickname?” Talia turns the piece of wrinkly rind over in her hand. “Is it a cute boy who’s waiting for you at home?” Sunae hesitates. “Um. Not a boy.” And then, to distract Talia from fixating on that, she launches into an account of everything that’s been overwhelming her. She explains that the next Appeasement is happening soon, and that she has been trying to conduct research into the history and literature of Miraya to see if she can find any clues as to how Yomue defeated the monster last time and why the monster came back, but she still hasn’t found anything useful. “I just want to find another way,” Sunae says. “I don’t want my friend to do anything rash. I don’t want to lose her.” Talia presses her shoulder gently against Sunae’s. “One of my ancestors was part of the first expedition to Miraya. We have an attic full of things left behind by various family members. We’ve never managed to go through all of it properly, but you’re welcome to come and have a look.” This is how Sunae finds herself cross-legged on the dusty floor of Talia’s ridiculously big attic, cross-eyed after three continuous days of rifling through boxes of miscellanea in dim light, unable to believe what she’s looking at. It’s a roughly colored sketch of Yomue the warrior, copied from the temple wall. Sword and monster and moon. And beneath that, a sketch of Yomue again—a woman dressed in the same armor, holding not a sword but a scroll open in her hands. Next to her is something a little like a mirror, or a full moon: a vast circle, shaded in silver. Within it coils a spiral shadow. Sunae isn’t sure how to interpret this, but she knows that this Yomue and the painted poet in the old Library are one and the same. She rummages through the rest of the box which contained the sketches, and her hand touches worn leather. She pulls it out of the box and it falls open on her lap, yellowed pages crammed with neat handwriting. It’s a diary.   “Why do all you rich Carruceans have stuff just lying around in your attic that I’ve only been searching for my entire life?” Sunae mutters under her breath to Talia, who is sitting next to her at this dinner. She clenches her fist around her fork. “Well, at least now you can read Yomue’s poetry!” Talia whispers back. Dr. Sotkin, a dear friend of Dr. Janner, carries on explaining to everyone how he recovered the lost manuscript of Yomue’s poems when he was cleaning out his grandfather’s house after his grandfather recently passed away. Sunae saws away at her chunk of boiled beef. “I’ll be publishing a translation later this year,” Dr. Sotkin announces. Sunae takes a sip of water and a deep breath. “What kind of poetry is it?” she asks, proud of how calm and polite she sounds. “Sadly, it only survives in fragments, but I’ve brought a copy of some of them to share with all of you as a preview.” Dr. Sotkin digs in his bag and retrieves a sheaf of papers. “I believe Dr. Janner told me you can all read Classical Mirayan?” “Some of us better than others,” Talia murmurs to Sunae, and Sunae hides a smile behind her napkin. Some of the boys in their class seem to be getting by with barely any knowledge of Mirayan. Sunae assumes it must be their wealth that passes their exams for them. She takes the sheet that Dr. Sotkin offers to her and scans it quickly. Her mind whirls dizzily and she pushes away her plate and reads the fragment again, more slowly this time. And again. She closes her eyes and envisions the inscrutable moon in the night sky to steady herself. Dr. Sotkin is saying something about a man that Yomue is drinking with. “She compares her love for this man to the Moon Lake—a blessing that glimmers on and on.” Sunae hands the sheet to Talia and holds onto the edge of the table. “Dr. Sotkin,” she says, and she isn’t able to sound calm anymore. Her voice quavers. “I don’t believe Yomue is talking about a man. I know it’s only a fragment, but it’s clear from the grammar that she’s writing about a woman.” Dr. Sotkin frowns. “Did you not hear when I said that this is a love poem?” “Yes, I know, and I believe that Yomue’s beloved is a woman.” “That’s preposterous. It’s simply impossible.” “You think it’s impossible that Yomue loved another woman?” “What you are speaking of is highly illegal and punishable by death, young lady,” Dr. Sotkin sniffs. In both Miraya and Carrucea, yes—Sunae is extremely aware. “Are we to believe that Yomue shared these poems with the public and was not executed for her sins?” “Well, she warded off the monster, so there were no Appeasements—” Dr. Sotkin tugs haughtily at his cravat. “You do realize that it is possible to execute people without feeding them to a monster as you barbarians love to do?” “Love?” Sunae’s voice is shrill to her own ears; drums thunder in her ribcage. “You think we love having to feed people to a monster every ten years to keep it from destroying our whole island?” Dr. Sotkin’s face is pink as the sand on Miraya’s beaches. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” “Yes,” Dr. Janner joins in. “Sunae, your behavior of late has been extremely rude and disruptive and I’m afraid we cannot tolerate this. Dr. Sotkin is the foremost expert on Classical Mirayan and he will not be insulted by your bumbling reading of this poem.” “But she’s right!” Talia protests, jabbing at the sheet of paper. “Dr. Janner, Sunae’s right. Look at this line here.” “It’s all right,” Sunae says, putting her hand on Talia’s arm. “I’m leaving.”   Sunae’s head is still spinning from the fragment of Yomue’s poetry. It was so much like the poems that she has been writing about Oaru, folded into envelopes and sent across the ocean to her lover. One was about the glow of sweat and moon-water on Oaru’s skin, the night they drifted together in the Moon Lake, the last night they spent together. And now, this letter from her mother. She sinks to the floor of the post room and clutches her knees. She is going to be sick. The door creaks open. She looks up and Talia is there. “I’m so sorry,” Talia says. “You were such a fearsome warrior back there, speaking up to Sotkin like that. He’s utterly dreadful. Janner, too. I want to lock them both up in my attic and never let them out. Janner revoked your scholarship but he hasn’t even tried to suspend me.” Sunae stares at Talia and cannot speak. Talia doesn’t know about the letter yet. She thinks Sunae is just upset about what happened at the dinner, but the world is crumbling at Sunae’s feet and Talia has no idea. A smile stretches across Talia’s face. “Can you believe your legendary Yomue’s one of us?” Sunae’s shoulders loosen a little. “One of us?” “One of us,” Talia repeats and holds her hand out to Sunae, and Sunae understands. Instead of taking Talia’s hand, she lifts up the letter and gives it to Talia. Talia reads it and is speechless, too. She sits down next to Sunae and together they watch the flickering light bulb. It is no moon, but it soothes, somehow. Eventually, Talia asks, “When is the next Appeasement? Will you make it back in time?” “If I leave at dawn, I might,” Sunae says, hoarsely. “You’ll be arrested too if you go back, won’t you?” Sunae nods. “But you’re definitely going.” Sunae nods again. “Good luck,” Talia whispers. “If you don’t die, write me a poem. You have my address.” She kisses Sunae’s forehead.   Sunae crosses the ocean home. She prays to the Goddess. She prays to Yomue. She writes.   Which is what brings us here, to Sunae’s nineteenth birthday, and Sunae and Oaru on the beach where they first met ten years ago. “I love you,” Sunae says to Oaru. There is white sea-spray in Oaru’s windblown hair, and if Sunae’s plan doesn’t succeed, she wants this to be the last thing she ever sees. She closes her eyes. The waves lap the shore. Her lungs are full of salt air. The moon caresses her face with its white light. She opens her mouth. The truth comes out. Sunae wrote that silly poem when she was twelve, where I saved my husband from the monster. I laughed when I heard her read it to her classmates. Now she is a much better poet, and she has learnt so much—from sketches and diaries and mistranslated fragments—and this is what she tells the Mirayans. Four hundred years ago, Yomue loved another woman, and they had flowers and wine and stars; they chased phoenix foxes together in the valleys. They ate tortoise fruit and kissed each other’s mouths purple. They wrapped themselves in moonlight. Yomue was skilled with the sword, but even more skilled with words, and she was the Goddess’ favorite. She could not stand by and watch a monster kill more people in her town. She wove a spell out of poetry and enchanted the monster, led it to the Moon Lake where it slumbered for as long as she lived, and longer, because she taught others the poem. But the Carruceans came; they brought their laws with them, and they knew how powerful fear was. How to control a people with it. Fire bloomed in the Library; in the temple, fresh paint dried on the wall. Yomue the poet was erased from history. The monster was awoken, and anyone who caused trouble could be thrown into its devouring jaws. “Now you tell me I cannot love Oaru.   We chase a phoenix fox that Yomue tamed once, Reborn from the ashes of the Library. It hides poems in its fur. Tell the phoenix fox I cannot love Oaru.   We eat tortoise fruit grown from centuries-old trees, Roots as deep as our island. It hides poems in its rind. Tell the tortoise fruit I cannot love Oaru.   We bathe in the Moon Lake Yomue drank from, Water sacred to the Goddess. It hides poems in its bed. Tell the Moon Lake I cannot love Oaru.   Tell the Goddess I cannot love Oaru. Tell Yomue. Tell her and the woman she loved. Go back in time and bind her to this pillar and Tell her she was wrong.”   The monster rises out of the sea, torrents of water cascading from its back. Oaru was arrested because of Sunae’s poetry. Because Oaru’s father found the incriminating poems, because Sunae had sent so many and they overflowed, spilled, flooded Oaru’s room. Poems alight with the memories of all that Oaru and Sunae did together, all the times they were wide-eyed travelers in the landscape of each other’s bodies, all the smoldering hearths they built in the secret corners of each other’s hearts. The monster bellows and the earth quakes and Sunae is not afraid. She knows she is not the first who has been here. She is not the first who has done this.   “Let her tell you she is me. Let her open her mouth and Sing the monster to sleep Again.”   Sunae’s pores still have the magic blessing of moon-water in them, and I am with her. Through her, I sing. I was here, like her. I loved, like her. I fought the monster and won, and she will, too.   If you visit the Temple of Moon Goddess today, you will see this scene painted alongside my mural in the prayer hall: The monster walks spellbound across the island, and the Mirayans walk with it, every one of their faces slack with awe. Sunae leads them, freed from her shackles. She holds Oaru’s hand.   END   “The Lamentations of Old Money" is copyright Chanter 2019. “Tell the Phoenix Fox, Tell the Tortoise Fruit” is copyright Cynthia So 2019. This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library. You can support GlitterShip by checking out our Patreon at patreon.com/keffy, subscribing to our feed, or by leaving reviews on iTunes. You can also pick up a free audio book by going to www.audibletrial.com/glittership or buying your own copy of the Summer 2018 issue at www.glittership.com/buy Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a reprint of “Instar" by Carrow Narby.

Harking back again to Swerve's UK Bass roots we're serving up a healthy 3 course feast of dank low end heaters! For your main this evening we have the absolute don https://soundcloud.com/akul_music blessing us with a super heavy feature mix, weaving wall to wall grimey tuna at a frantic pace evoking a plethora of gunfinger salutes, just as we've become accustomed to at his regular sets around the Sydney bass scene this year. (Akul mix begins @ 42:00) Whetting the appetite with the creamy hors d'oeuvres first up we have our boi the one and only https://soundcloud.com/gilsun aka https://soundcloud.com/oscarmikesound spinning a selection of wobbly and energetic UK bass with large dollop of ragga influence, a definite nod to his hugely popular https://soundcloud.com/iron-gate-sound project. Keep an ear out in this intro mix for some unreleased FIRE from the homie Zed Bias and his forthcoming release "Selectah". Rolling out the dessert course at the tail end of our evening there will be no cheese platter here sir, just straight up BANGERS from our dynamic duo, Beans & Alice D. You know what to expect from these lads, pure energy when they touch deckle. Big ups all Swerve fam for listening! Keep it locked on all channels and we'll keep delivering that underground Sydney noise for the heads

In this latest episode, we look back at what we've been up to since the The White Hag's birthday bash Whetting our whistle with a couple of Hillstown Brewery beers, courtesy of Instagram legend, and all round Nice Guy Antrim_Man We also look forward to the upcoming festivals, as we hit peak beer fest season in Ireland.  Big Grill Festival Great Irish Beer Festival ABV Fest Irish Craft Beer Festival Also be sure to follow Our Hoppy Travels on Instagram here  

Meghan Schofield is an Ohio-native who has an impressive knack for creative problem solving. Prior to her current role as a UX/Product Designer at infrastructure startup, CoreOS, Meghan worked in the field of museum exhibit design for 15 years and she also ventured into project management at some point. Meghan is passionate about creating a positive impact in people’s lives and she firmly believes that you need to have a deep understanding of your medium to become great at whatever you do in whichever field you’re in. Key Points: 1. As a designer, you’re solving a problem. You’re not just creating something beautiful for the sake of it, but there’s always an element involved. There are parameters, goals, and rules to consider and always a consumer on one side of it. Think really deeply about what your goal is. 2. As a designer, you’re communicating all the time. Designers being visual, you need to be able to create a well-designed, well-thought of resume that stands out from the pile. 3. Curiosity, attention to detail, and knowing what people expect are three essential elements that make up a good candidate for a design role. Enthusiasm is key during the interview process. Don’t pretend you know something or can make something up on the spot. Instead, ask them about their pain points or the problems they’re solving. 4. If you want to be a great designer, get to know the medium you’re in. You have to understand how certain pieces and parts come together. Also, having basic knowledge of HTML or CSS can come handy especially when you’re working with engineers. SHOW NOTES (FOCUS ON THE STEPPING STONES): [03:00] Her transition from illustration to design [05:13] Her journey to museum exhibit design [08:01] Day-to-day job of a museum exhibit designer [09:07] The art of creative problem solving [10:23] Whetting her creative appetite [12:27] Applying for tech jobs in DC was another struggle for her [13:38] Learning HTML and CSS [15:35] Her crushing job search experience [17:53] Meghan’s first break into tech [20:02] How she learned the specific skill sets required [23:14] Some curve balls she encountered at the tech company [26:11] Another job transition [28:19] What a design interview looks like at a tech startup [31:33] How to deal with the hard interview questions [34:44] The characteristics of a good candidate [39:16] Meghan’s future plans [40:49] The Lightning Round 1. Imagine that you get dropped in a brand new city. You don’t know anyone. You’re trying to start again and you only have $100. What would you do and how would you spend the $100 to get back on your feet? Meghan would research a company that she really wanted to work for and reach out to somebody there that she could take out for dinner. 2. When you were in some of those frustrating moments when you couldn’t find a museum job or you couldn’t find a tech job, did you listen to any music or a movie or interact with any art piece that helped you brave through this situation? Meghan spent a lot of time going to art museums to try to stay inspired. 3. Knowing what you know now, having gone through this amazing career of starting out in design then switching jobs, switching industries, ending up in tech, what is the one piece of advice that you have for our listeners who are contemplating starting on this journey? It’s really important to have at least done some things in HTML and CSS. As a designer, you need to understand the limitations of what you’re going to be creating. You don’t have to be doing it constantly but at least have an understanding of your medium.

CliffCentral.com — Whetting appetites for Grahamstown - the actor and director of the play Defending the Caveman join Tumi and it gets downright dirty - from talking sex with your kids, to having sex with the same sex, sex toys, sex freaks… sex sex sex!

The Sanctum is opening...

This is the first official Whetting Appetites Podcast! Episode 1 has finally been posted. After many attempts to get this communal food worship up and running, it’s here. The themes are leftovers and meatballs. It was recorded right after Thanksgiving, so you get the gist. My fellow chef, Chris, and I explore the topic with some drinks in hand. Bon Appétit!

Call the voicemail line: (571)297-3325  This week's episode is sponsored by JMS Books. "Crises of Faith" was written by Elizabeth L. Brooks and read by Tonya M. Idlewine, and originally appeared in "Whetting the Appetite" Buy "Whetting the Appetite" on Amazon Buy "Whetting the Appetite" on Smashwords

This episode is sponsored by JMS Books, LLC."Ripped" was written by Lynn Townsend and is narrated here by Nobilis Reed.  Listen through to the end for a coupon code when you buy "Whetting the Appetite" at JMS Books. Theme music is by Kevin MacLeod 

The 110th of a weekly series of radio programmes created by :zoviet*france: for Basic.fm. First broadcast 16 August 2014. Our thanks go out to the artists and sound recordists included here for their fine work. track list 01 Microkill - VilniusOST 02 Tuonela - Salve 03 8m² Stereo - 5.12. 04 L-A-J - Abstruse 05 Paul Minesweeper - Navoi - Zarafshan 06 Chris Carter - XLS15 07 Walter Marchetti - Antibarbarus 08 [unknown sound recordist / BBC] - Going About 09 Darius Greene & Jaan Patterson - Behind Closed Doors 10 [unknown sound recordist / BBC] - Golf - 3 Chip Shots 11 Kosta T. - Snot 12 [unknown sound recordist / BBC] - Seawash, Choppy